


The Stepfather

by MoonRiver



Series: Amelia [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babysitting, Ballet, Big Brother Mycroft, Children, Dancing, Disney Movies, Disney References, Disney Songs, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Humor, M/M, Mycroft To The Rescue, Parentlock, Sick Character, Toddlers, dancing sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five of Sherlock's most memorable adventures in babysitting...and one adventure he swears never happened.</p><p>1.) Baby's First Ambulance Ride<br/>2.) Mary Poppins<br/>3.) Career Day<br/>4.) First Date<br/>5.) Scare<br/>6.) Sherlock Dances</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby's First Ambulance Ride

**Author's Note:**

> The adventures begin! I will warn you that this first one involves a baby and a hospital visit.

“You have her dummy?”

“For the dozenth time, John, yes I have the dummy. And a backup dummy. And an entire bag of nappies.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but to turn his lips up in an amused smile as his boyfriend paced the living room. John was called in to work a nightshift, and the doctor seemed more nervous about leaving his six month old alone with his own partner than rushing in to assist with surgery in the middle of the night.

“She’s been fed and changed?” John asked.

“Obviously. It’s nine o’clock, John. Go to work. Some poor sod is waiting for you in an operating room, and all we’re going to do is sleep, now go!”

He gave John an encouraging push toward the front door, but his boyfriend didn’t look amused.

“If you need me, my number at the hospital is on the fridge,” John said.

He turned around, meeting Sherlock’s eyes as though desperately pleading with him to be serious about this. In the six months that he became a father John hadn’t spent a single night away from his little girl, and while Sherlock didn’t see what the big deal was at first, when he looked into his lover’s eyes and saw the utter fear inside them, he understood.

“We’ll be fine, John,” Sherlock promised. He leaned in and planted a kiss to his lips. “Go take care of your patient. Amelia and I will be fine.”

John’s eyes twinkled.

“You know, it’s not just Amelia I’m worried about,” he teased.

Sherlock smiled, delighted that John finally seemed to calm down.

“We’ll be fine,” he repeated, and gave him a final goodbye kiss.

“I’m just going to go say goodbye-"

Grabbing his arm, Sherlock warned:

“She’s fast asleep, John. If you wake her up she’ll start to cry, and then you’ll never want to leave. Go. It’s fine.”

His boyfriend’s eyes darted toward the nursery; he seemed to be unable to get his feet to move.

“I should be back by morning.”

“Then I’ll have breakfast ready. Go. Your patient is waiting on you.”

It looked like it physically pained John to finally grab his bag and head toward the door. He stopped one final time and turned to Sherlock with a longing gaze.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Sherlock just smiled. John left quietly, and Sherlock waited until he heard the sound of his car starting up before he retreated back to the guest room. He hadn’t officially moved into the Watson household, but he might as well have. Most of his clothes were here, what few experiments John allowed him to bring was here, the violin was here, and whenever Sherlock needed something at Baker Street he spent more time having tea with Mrs Hudson than inside the flat. The funny thing was, even though Baker Street felt like home for so long, he hardly missed it. He knew his life was with John now, and Amelia, and wherever they needed to be he needed to be. Besides, the suburbs were a much better place to raise a baby. Less noise, less people, newer construction. Still he kept paying rent at Baker Street out of mere sentiment…and the fear of giving Mrs Hudson his notice.

He settled into bed and flipped on the baby monitor. John was trying his best to let Amelia sleep through the night by herself- something Sherlock could hardly understand. Staying in his room while the child cried seemed cruel, and part of him almost believed that John was reluctant to leave him with Amelia because he knew Sherlock would spoil her.

On cue, at two in the morning, he woke up to Amelia’s wails. He lay there, breathing hard after being jerked from a rather intimate dream involving John and handcuffs, and he made it a full five minutes before he gave up and raced to the nursery. After all, they did live in a townhouse. Wasn’t it rude to the neighbours to let the baby cry all night?

“There, there,” Sherlock encouraged as he burst into the nursery. Up close, the cries seemed even louder than usual, and he didn’t hesitate to lift the screaming baby into his arms. “It’s okay, Amelia.”

But Amelia only cried harder, louder, and Sherlock frowned. He gently sat her back down and studied her. He flipped on a lamp to get a better look, and panic rose through him when he saw the pained look on the child’s face.

Sherlock felt her forehead, but her skin felt fine. Amelia grasped her baby blanket it and screamed.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked her desperate, though he knew it was usually. “Are you ill?”

He was wearing his dressing gown, and he knew his mobile was tucked in his pocket. He thought of the number John left on the fridge- the one he knew by heart though his boyfriend insisted on writing it down anyway. But John would be well into surgery right now; it would be no use bothering him. Plus, who goes in when the on call doctor has to deal with a personal emergency?

So Sherlock just stood, staring in horror at the screaming child. It might have been his imagination, but her face seemed paler than normal. Usually her cheeks were bright red during crying spells.    

Suddenly the wailing stopped. Her crying turned soft and sounded more like desperate gasps for breath.

Something was clearly wrong. He could feel it in his gut, but he hadn’t done enough research on baby symptoms to identify the problem. It seemed foolish to call 999 when he wasn’t sure exactly what the emergency was, but he was too afraid to just leave her in case something really was wrong.

Then he heard the terrible, heartbreaking sound of wheezing, and when he realised it was coming from Amelia and not his own chest he grabbed his mobile and did what any grown man in his situation would do.

He phoned his mother.

“Sherlock?” He had obviously woken her up. A million thoughts were probably going through her head- he had done drugs again, a case had gone incredibly wrong, something had happened to Mycroft. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”

Usually he hated it when his mother called him ‘sweetheart’, but for the first time it was comforting to hear her say it.

“I think something’s wrong with Amelia,” he explained. “John was called into surgery around nine. Everything was fine until she woke up screaming at two am. At first she started crying harder than ever, but then she just sort of stopped. Her crying was so soft, almost like she was gasping for breath. Then she began wheezing.”

“Wheezing?” His mother exclaimed. “Sherlock, maybe you should call an ambulance.”

A pit dropped in his stomach. His mother had never been one to panic and rush to the hospital at every little symptom, so hearing her suggest going to the A&E made him even more nervous.

“Do you really think it’s that bad?” He asked.

It was a stupid question, but he was in complete panic mode.

“You should never gamble with fate when a baby is wheezing,” his mother warned. “Do you have a number for John at the hospital?”

“He’ll be in surgery until early morning. I can’t bother him. Mum…I don’t know babies. I don’t know what to do. She’s….she’s acting like she can’t breathe.”

“Hang up the phone right now and dial 999.” But he didn’t. He hesitated, scared stiff. His mother’s voice was much calmer when she spoke again, trying to encourage him. “Sherlock, she needs you to be strong right now. Do you need me to come to London?”

_Yes!_

“No,” he lied. He was actually beginning to feel like _he_ couldn’t breathe. “No…I better call an ambulance. I’m sorry I bothered you, Mum. I just panicked.”

“It’s quite alright, love. Trust me, every parent has been there. I love you. Give me a ring when you get to the hospital.”

“I will.”

He hung up and called for an ambulance straight away. It took less than five minutes for an ambulance to get there. He had a feeling John had something like this in mind when he chose a townhome close to the hospital.

“Are you the father?” The paramedic asked as they prepared Amelia in the ambulance.

Eyes wide, Sherlock could only watch in horror as teeny tiny blood pressure monitors and stethoscopes were used on her. He heard the question again, and he was snapped back into reality. He hesitated for a moment, knowing that if he said ‘no’ he might not get full access to Amelia in the hospital. Sherlock settled for:

“I’m her stepfather.”

This seemed to be good enough for the paramedics, who pulled him into the ambulance. The short ride to the hospital passed in a blur. A series of questions were asked, questions he hardly knew how to answer. He knew very little about John’s family’s medical history, and he considering he hadn’t realised something was wrong with Amelia until she woke up that night he didn’t find himself very useful.

It was only when they were rushing through the A&E doors that it hit them that they were in John’s hospital. Amelia was rushed into a room and a nurse stopped him before he followed.

“Please, I need to be with her,” he pleaded.

“And I need to ask you some more questions,” the nurse challenged. Her nametag read ‘Amanda’. Her eyes looked tired, her shoulder slumped forward, and she was clearly in a bad mood. She had obviously been called in as well. “Does anyone in the house smoke?”

His face fell, and his chest became tight.

“I…just…no…” but he knew he couldn’t lie. This was Amelia’s health they were talking about. Finally he confessed: “Only outside, but that was just once, I swear. I quit smoking when she was born.”

The confession earned him a cold glare from the nurse, and Sherlock felt like a complete arse. How had he ever chosen his own selfish desires over someone else’s wellbeing?

“Any history of drug abuse in the household?” She asked.

“My…my stepdaughter is in there clinging to life and you’re asking me about-“

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the nurse replied dryly.

From the note she scribbled down he knew he was due for a lecture about second hand smoke and children. It was a lecture he had heard from John a dozen times before he was allowed to stay over. The one time he gave into his cravings he felt so ashamed that the single cigarette made him feel ill for days.

“What about a history of asthma?” Amanda asked.

Sherlock stopped.

_Asthma?_

He had never thought about asthma a day in his life, though it was entirely possibly that either Mary or John’s family had a history of it and he didn’t know.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “Can babies have asthma attacks?”

This also earned him a _look_ , and he felt stupid for not knowing any of this.

“Sometimes,” Amanda finally said, “but it’s important to know the family’s history up front. Having a single attack at her age might not indicate that she’ll have asthma as she gets older, but it will be important in case she does have further issues later on.”

“Like I said, I’m her stepfather,” he finally confessed, “but father works in the hospital. John Watson. He’s in surgery, but his history should be on file.”

The nurse’s eyes lit up with alarm.

“This is John’s daughter?” She asked, pointing with her pin toward the door.

Sherlock nodded. He’d somehow forgotten in his moment of panic that John was hailed a hero at his new hospital. His first week on the job he worked a sixteen hour double shift as he fought to save the lives of a family of car crash victims, all of whom were discharged on a good note despite the fiery crash that brought them there. Less than two weeks later he caught the early stages of a brain tumor in a twelve year old girl, which ended up saving her life. Of course the staff would be anxious to help John’s kid.

The nurse placed a hand on his shoulder, and Sherlock was surprised at how comforting he found the gesture.

“We’re doing everything we can,” she promised.

He nodded, but it wasn’t the promise he wanted to hear. It was the promise that was usually made when a patient took a turn for the worse. It was a promise he remembered hearing the week before his grandfather died of cancer. It was a promise he heard Lestrade give hundreds of times, to no avail.

“You’ll need to fill out paperwork at the front desk,” Amanda said. “We’ll take good care of Amelia.”

A small smile crossed her face, and Sherlock had a feeling the A&E staff knew all about John’s new baby girl. John didn’t take her to work to show her off in fear of her catching something, but he did have a small baby party (he had refused to call it a shower), which drew more guests in a single hour than Sherlock had known his entire life.

As he began filling out the paperwork he once again struggled to find answers to even the simplest questions. He almost considered phoning Mycroft to find a way around it, but he knew how much his brother detested being woken up in the middle of the night.

“Mr Holmes?” The receptionist called.

His eyes shot up, hoping to see a doctor, but she motioned for him to bring the paperwork.

“Amanda tells me this is Dr Watson’s daughter,” the receptionist said; she offered him a reassuring smile. “We’ll take care of everything. We have John’s background on file, so there’s no need to worry.”

There was a certain glimmer in her eye that threw Sherlock off-guard, and when he glanced down at the paperwork and saw his self-proclaimed title of ‘stepfather’ he realised what it must be. He and John had only been officially dating for three months, and most of their dates consisted of take-away dinners or a quick round of sex. Of course people at the hospital wouldn’t know yet. They still thought he was John “I’m not gay” Watson who proudly boast his “Three Continents Watson” nickname whenever someone doubted him.

He swallowed nervously, and pleaded:

“Please don’t-"

“We’re professionals here, Mr Holmes,” the receptionist said, throwing her hands up in defense.

But even as he walked away images of John being teased in the break room flooded his mind.

“Sherlock?”

It wasn’t thirty seconds after collapsing in a plastic seat with his head in his hands that he heard the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. John was dressed in scrubs, complete with a mask resting on his head and latex gloves he had just ripped off sitting in his hand.

From the mixture of shock and hurt on his face he couldn’t tell if John just happened to be wandering the A&E or if he was paged.

“I was paged,” John explained. “They said Amelia was here. What happened?”

Carefully he stood up and began to place his hands on John’s shoulders, but his boyfriend jerked away.

“Don’t!” John snapped.

Rather it was out of frustration, exhaustion, or fear Sherlock didn’t know, but John sighed as though he felt guilty about it.

“Come with me,” John sighed.

He led Sherlock through the emergency ward to a cleaning station for doctors and nurses. He scrubbed off and shed his sweaty scrub top, leaving him in the bottoms and a plain white t-shirt. His hands shook as he cleaned them, and when he finally turned the water off Sherlock placed a hand over his.

“John,” Sherlock said quietly. He squeezed his hand, hoping to help calm him down.

Letting out a shaky sigh, John finally turned to him.

“At about two Amelia woke up crying, like usual, but this time it was louder, like something was really wrong,” Sherlock explained. “I went to her room and at first everything seemed okay. Then she just had this look of pain on her face, and her crying turned very soft. She started wheezing-“

“Oh god,” John croaked, holding a hand to his mouth like he was going to be sick.

“I phoned for an ambulance and we came straight here,” he finished, carefully leaving out the part where he called his mum in a panic.

“Oh my god.”

His boyfriend was breathing hard, and all Sherlock knew to do was to embrace him in his arms and hold him close.

“Everything will be fine,” he whispered.

“Don’t say that,” John shot, “please don’t make promises you don’t know you can keep. I left her for one night…I didn’t even say goodbye! Oh my god. What if she, what if…”

Suddenly John let go of him and collapsed on the floor to throw up into the trash can. When he lifted his face a moment later, chest heaving, he looked nearly as pale as his daughter did just a half an hour ago. For the first time it truly struck Sherlock how much John and his daughter looked alike. Their hair, their eyes, their noses…everything was just alike.

Sherlock just didn’t know what to say, but he had a feeling this was one of those moments when John just needed him to be here. He helped John to stand, and he was just embracing him again when someone called their names.

“Dr Watson and Mr Holmes?”

Sherlock couldn’t help but to be caught off-guard by the wording. He was so used to it being the other way around. But he was in John’s territory now.

“Dr Oliver,” John greeted, stretching out his hand to shake on it. “Sherlock, this is Dr Kevin Oliver. He’s a brilliant doctor.”

Dr Oliver grinned.

“Thanks for the kudos, John. Do you want to talk in here or-?”

“Here’s fine,” John replied.

“First of all, Amelia’s going to be fine.” Sherlock and John let out simultaneous sighs of relief. “Her airways were briefly swollen.”

“She had an asthma attack?” John blurted out.

The doctor looked hesitant to respond, and Sherlock couldn’t imagine how hard it was to talk to new parents. He placed a hand on John’s shoulder and held his breath as the doctor explained:

“She had what appeared to be an asthma attack, but it can be difficult to determine if a baby actually has asthma. Has she had any colds lately?”

John shook his head.

“She hasn’t been coughing at all, or wheezing. She’s been perfectly fine, unless she just started to feel sick tonight.”

“It’s not in your file, but you have any family history of asthma?” Dr Oliver asked. “It’s not really a diagnosis I can make after one attack, but if she hasn’t been sick otherwise it is something to consider.”

John hesitated and glanced down at the ground as he admitted:

“When I was a kid…yeah, I did. I just don’t like to think about it. It made growing up hard, you know, with inhalers and all that. I couldn’t run very fast or keep up with the other kids. Apparently my dad had it too. I’ve been fine ever since. I never imagined passing that onto my own kid.”

“We still don’t know if that’s what it is,” Oliver pointed out. “We were able to give her emergency treatment for now, and she improved immediately. My recommendation is that we keep her overnight and set an appointment to start monitoring her symptoms. If this was asthma it could have been an acute attack, and she may not experience anymore symptoms. Now, earlier today or this week, have you noticed anything different about her crying, feeding, or breathing?”

John and Sherlock exchanged glances.

“She didn’t want to be fed this morning,” John admitted. “I just thought she was being fussy.”

“When she first started crying tonight it was her normal wail, but then all of a sudden her cries became soft and shallow,” Sherlock confessed. “That’s when the wheezing started.”

The doctor nodded as he jotted down notes.

“Well, Sherlock definitely did the right thing in calling an ambulance,” Dr Oliver said. He offered a kind smile and shook hands with John again. “She’s going to be just fine. John, I’m sure you know all about asthma and infants, but I’m still going to give you some information on what to watch out for, just in case it does happen again.”

Sherlock, for one, was secretly grateful for the offer. If something like this happened again he needed to be able to do something other than just panic. The doctor left them alone, and as they turned to one another John let out another shaky breath.

“Jesus,” John whispered, running a through his hair. “Everything’s happening so fast.”

Nodding in agreement, Sherlock leaned back against the wall of the washroom and closed his eyes. He kept thinking, what if he didn’t hear the baby monitor in time? What if he had convinced himself it was nothing? What if he had followed John’s advice and let Amelia cry herself to sleep? As he opened his eyes and saw the cold, sunken eyes of his boyfriend, he knew John was thinking along the same lines.

Suddenly his mobile began ringing, and Sherlock exclaimed to no one in particular:

“Mum! I forgot to call.”

“You phoned your mother?” John asked, his lips turning up ever-so-slightly in amusement.

“I panicked,” Sherlock confessed as he answered the call. “Mum? I’m sorry, it’s been a bit of a rush.”

“I just wanted to check in. I haven’t been able to sleep, I was too worried. How’s Amelia?”

His mother sounded wide-awake, and he could just picture her sitting up with a cuppa and one of her science books. The thought made him smile, and he suddenly found himself longing to hug her.

“The doctor said she’s going to be fine,” Sherlock said. “It could have been an asthma attack, but they can’t be sure. We’ll just have to monitor her.”

“Poor Amelia,” his mum sighed. “How’s John holding up?”

He glanced over to his lover, who was leaning against the wall with his head in his hands.

“About as well as you could expect.”

“And you?”

Sherlock let out a long sigh. He couldn’t say the things he wanted to around John, so he slipped out of the room and into the hall.

“I keep thinking, what if I didn’t get there in time?” He confessed. “Or what if I didn’t react the right way? What if I did everything right but something happened to her anyway?”

“Oh love, you can’t think like that or you’ll drive yourself crazy,” his mum said. “You know, this same thing happened to your brother.”

“Mycroft?” He asked, shocked.

Mycroft was prone to colds as a child, but no one in his family ever said anything about asthma.

“They called it an acute asthma attack,” she explained, “he had a nasty cold when he was about a year old. He gave me and your dad quite a fright. In a few days he was right as rain. For the next few weeks I lived in fear of something happening to him again. Honestly, Sherlock, a parent always lives in fear of something happening to their child. Bloody hell, I worry about you and Mycroft every day.”

He couldn’t help but to grin.

“Send John our love,” his mother instructed. “I love you, Sherlock. You can phone me anytime, you know.”

“I know. I love you too, Mum. And…thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

She hung up at that, and when he looked around, observing the nightly happenings of the hospital, he finally felt the knot in his stomach loosen. He stuffed the mobile back into his dressing gown and laughed.

He was still wearing his bloody dressing gown! He hadn’t even bothered changing. Looking down at his feet, he was grateful he had at least thought to put on some trainers. He knew he must look ridiculous, but no one seemed to care.

John came out of the washroom and took his hand.

“Let’s go see her,” John said quietly. He leaned in and kissed Sherlock softly, sweetly. It was their first public display of affection. Sherlock kept his eyes open and caught the glances of a few nurses who giggled behind their hands. This was John’s own way of coming out, and honestly Sherlock couldn’t think of a better opportunity than here, at the hospital, where his colleagues doctors had just saved his daughter’s life.

And that’s when Sherlock remembered:

“Oh, and by the way they kind of think I’m her stepfather.”

John stared at him.

“Do I even want to-"

Sherlock grabbed his hand and cut him off.

“No.”

Without saying another word he led John into Amelia’s room and smiled, feeling like things were finally okay again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, a disclaimer. I know about adult asthma but had to turn to the internet for infant asthma information, and you know what they say about getting medical advice from the internet. 
> 
> Second, thanks for reading!! The rest of this fic will pretty much be fluff...with just a teeny bit of angst. Amelia will eventually become a teenager, after all. 
> 
> I'd love to know what you think so far!


	2. Mary Poppins

“Where’s Amelia?” Sherlock sang as he crept around the corner of the living room.

A soft giggle sounded from behind the sofa, and a broad grin crossed Sherlock’s face as he tip-toed toward the two and a half year old.

“Where’s Amelia?” He called. “Could she be…here?”

He glanced behind the telly just for fun.

“Or…here?”

He ducked behind John’s armchair before rounding on the sofa.

“Or…here!”

Amelia burst into laughter as he poked his head around the sofa and swept her up into his arms in one quick movement.

“’Lock colour?” Amelia asked.

And just like that, his eyes that were lit with glee just moments ago melted into horror at the site of her crayon-stained hands. Stomach knotting, he reluctantly looked up to what was once a freshly painted beige wall. Now it was shades of pink, blue, and purple.

“Pretty!” Amelia exclaimed, pointing at the wall. “Draw!”

“Yes,” Sherlock groaned.

“’Lock colour!” She said again, thrusting a purple crayon into his hands.

Sherlock glanced at the clock and was relieved to see he still had a good three hours before John came home from work. In his experience it would take him exactly an hour and a half to clean the wall…a half an hour to clean and an hour of chasing Amelia around and trying to keep her still while he worked.

“Amelia,” he sighed, kneeling to her level. He took her by her chubby sides and examined her from head to toe. Yellow and orange crayon marks scarred her face, her yellow top, and even her legs. Make that two hours for cleaning, then. “What did Daddy and Sherlock say about colouring on the walls?”

“Sher!” She giggled, hitting him on the head before screaming: “Colour!”

He blinked; he was still put off by her ability to be sweet and adorable one moment and an utter terror the next.

“Right,” he sighed, picking her up. “Bath first.”

“Story!” She exclaimed, pumping her fist into the air. Of course. She always got a story after her baths at night, so she would naturally expect one now.

“No, baths then time-out,” he teased.

Her face fell, as though she understood the threat behind his words even though she had no clue what ‘time-out’ meant.

“Vi-lin!” She cried next.

“Bath,” he protested.

Letting out a loud wail, she buried her head into his shoulder and kicked and screamed the entire way through the bath.

“You have your daddy’s tempter,” he grinned as he washed her hair. Her angry, tear-filled eyes glared at him. She splashed water in his face in protest.

“Pooh!” Amelia suddenly cried out.

He groaned; they had been letting her watch through all the Disney classics, and John had spoiled her by letting her re-play one _Winnie the Pooh_ (her favourite) movie a day. Sherlock didn’t get it. Why couldn’t she listen to Mozart or watch nature documentaries instead? Surely that would be much more useful to her in life?

“No,” he whined, “not today, Amelia.”

She pointed at the toilet.

“No, _poo_!”

His eyes went wide with alarm, and he nearly yanked her out of the bathroom.

“Right,” he sighed.

Twenty minutes later he had finally gotten her washed up and off to bed for a nap. His body felt heavy and his eyes burned with exhaustion. He yearned for the times when he could run around London for days at a time with no sleep. Since Amelia was born he craved sleep for the first time in his life; probably because it was the first time anyone had ever been allowed to not sleep. Lately it felt like the child had a vendetta against him…when John left the house it was like the clock struck midnight and she changed into a demon. The constant running, the refusing to eat, the rule breaking, the whining all reminded him of, well…himself.

As his feet hit the living room floor and his eyes found the sofa he resisted the urge to sleep. Instead he let out a heavy sigh, gathered the usual cleaning supplies, and took his spot beneath Amelia’s wall art. After ten minutes he was so tired he felt like he could just fall asleep right there…

“Sherlock?”

He sat up straight and nearly dropped the sponge at the shock of hearing his brother’s voice. He looked up to meet the amused eyes of Mycroft, and he groaned with embarrassment at being caught in such a state.

“Should I ask?” Mycroft teased.

“No,” Sherlock shot, throwing the sponge into a bucket of water. “This week has been an utter nightmare.”

“Is that why Amelia is pounding on her bedroom door and crying ‘Lock hates me’?”

Throwing his hands up in defeat, he mumbled:

“She’s supposed to be taking a nap. Something I would kill for right about now, by the way. I need to go-“

But his brother grabbed his arm, and as Sherlock’s eyes trailed up to his older sibling’s he was surprised to find them filled with sympathy. At that moment, for the first time in years, he secretly needed his brother’s help.

“Allow me,” Mycroft offered. He took Sherlock by the arms and pointed him toward the staircase. “Mummy wanted me to check in on you, but if I report back to her that you’re in this state she’ll drop in on you like she’s Mary Poppins.”

“I’d kill for Mary Poppins to visit,” he muttered, “and how do you even know about _Mary Poppins_?”

Mycroft let out a dramatic sigh.

“She insisted on watching it when she stayed over last Friday night,” he admitted, “Gregory has been whistling that bloody kite song all week.”

“That’s the worst one!” Sherlock agreed.

They both stopped and stared at each other, equally as surprised to catch themselves talking about a Disney movie. At last his eyes fell, and he felt sorry for himself as he looked around at all there was to clean.

“I better do this,” he sighed, “I’m supposed to be watching her.”

“Nonsense!” Mycroft protested. “Please, do take advantage of my moment of sympathy. This is a once-in-a-decade occurrence.”

“True,” Sherlock remarked dryly. He ran his hands over his worn face, and it wasn’t until his muscles suddenly tightened and he nearly fell over that he gave in. “Alright, you can help. There are more sponges in the kitchen. She naps for thirty minutes, no more, no less. John gets home at six. If you want to visit her it will probably be best to stay in her bedroom. _No_ art supplies. No movies-"

“You’re having fun with this ‘punishment’ thing aren’t you?”

Sherlock grinned.

“It’s the only fun I get to have, alright? Just…wake me if you need anything. And thanks, Mycroft. Really.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Mycroft placed a hand on his arm, and a rush of relief went through him. It was no secret that having Amelia in their lives had brought them closer as brothers- to their mother’s delight, of course. But deep down, Sherlock was glad that they were slowly mending their broken past.

 

Two hours later he woke up to find himself tucked in bed. He didn’t remember how he got there, but as his eyes fluttered open to meet the darkened bedroom his body felt more relaxed than it had in days. A gentle rainfall battered against the window, and Sherlock was so tempted to simply drift back to sleep. But the rising smell of pasta drew him back downstairs in minutes.

He stopped at the edge of the steps, startled to find Mycroft sitting on the sofa with Amelia in his lap. She had his arms around her ‘uncle’ and was sucking her thumb and listening eagerly as he read to her:

“’Just then a sort of brightness fell upon me in the barrel, and, looking up, I found the moon had risen, and was silvering the mizzen-top and shining white on the luff of the foresail; and almost at the same time the voice of the look-out shouted ‘Land ho!’”

Amelia giggled, pointed to Sherlock, descending from the steps, and echoed:

“Land ho!”

His eyes met Mycroft’s, and that moment was the closest he had seen his brother burst into laughter in years.

“Isn’t she a little young for _Treasure Island_?” Sherlock challenged.

“Pirate!” Amelia exclaimed. She held her fingers up to her eyes in a circle and looked around the room, like she was looking through a spyglass.

Mycroft’s eyes twinkled as they looked up at him and he replied:

“You’re never too young for buried treasure.”

“Treasure!” Amelia cried, holding up a coin Mycroft had given her.

“What did I say about giving her money?” Sherlock snapped.

He swept across the room and took her tiny little fist in his hands to examine the currency she now held claim to.

Mycroft shrugged.

“That fell out of her ear,” he argued.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock picked Amelia up in his arms. Lestrade had been the one to teach Mycroft the coin-behind-the-ear magic trick, and no matter how many dozens of times they played the trick on her Amelia squealed each time.

Suddenly he stopped. He had just now looked around the room, his eyes finding the once paint-stained walls and the floors that had been covered with toys. The room was spotless now; even the furniture looked like it had been dusted. In the dining room three plates were set, ready for a pasta dish that was waiting for them on the stove.

“Mycroft…” his mouth fell open in shock.

His brother simply shrugged as he stood up.

“I started making the pasta dish John had planned for tonight,” he offered, “oh, and Amelia has something to say to you.”

The little girl looked up at him with big, sorrowful eyes. She tightened her hold around his neck before burying her head into his shoulders and muttering:

“I sorry.”

“Amelia,” Mycroft scolded.

Letting out a small huff, John’s daughter leaned back in his arms and looked up to him again.

“Sorry Sher…Sher…lock…Sherlock.”

She spat out a name almost like she had sneezed it out, throwing her head forward and scrunching her nose at the effort. His lips turned up into a grin, and he held her tightly, letting her bury her head into her shoulders once again as he tried to keep his own eyes from watering. It was the first time she had ever said his full name. Since she began speaking she managed bits and pieces of his name, but never the full thing. Until now.

He ran his hand gently over her back but gasped in surprised when her tiny fists suddenly pounded against his spine.

“Eat!” She demanded.

She must have looked up and noticed the dinner that was waiting for them. He met Mycroft’s eyes one last time, trying to find a way to express how grateful he was without being able to say it out loud. His brother nodded, like he understood. Mycroft looked like he might say something else sentimental, but instead he announced:

“John says he’ll be at least another hour.”

Sherlock’s heart fell. He ached for John most days, not only because they had been physically closer than ever and he simply found himself pining for his touch, but because feeding and putting a two year old to bed was much easier with his help.

“Why don’t you stay?” Sherlock blurted out, reluctant to be left alone.

Mycroft’s eyes twitched, and if he didn’t know any better he would say his brother was moved by the offer.

“After all, you set three plates,” he pointed out.

“Yay!” Amelia said, leaning back so she could gaze at her uncle. “Myc stay!”

“We’ll have to teach her your name next,” Sherlock teased.

As the three of them headed toward the table, Amelia pointed at the familiar umbrella leaning against the sofa.

“Mary!” She grinned. He and Mycroft looked at each other in horror; how could she possibly be able to recall her mother like that? But then she elaborated in song: “Go fly a kite!”

It was apparently the only words she knew, but it was enough for Sherlock to understand their meanings.

“I guess we did get a visit from Mary Poppins after all,” Sherlock teased.

Mycroft’s cheeks turned bright red, and that the last time he ever heard his brother talk about a Disney movie. With a big grin on his face Sherlock let Amelia bounce in his arms as he waltzed toward their dinner, singing the rest of the song for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That excerpt from the book really did come straight from my copy of Treasure Island. And for the record, I adore "Let's Go Fly A Kite"- even though it gets stuck in my head for weeks at a time whenever I hear it. I really enjoyed writing this one so I would love to hear what you thought about it! Thanks for reading!


	3. Career Day

“Okay, you, there in the pink shirt-" Sherlock motioned for a girl sitting in the front row of Amelia’s class to come forward. Reluctantly, the brunette shifted out of her seat. “You’re the body.”

He took her body the shoulders and practically pushed her to the floor. The class giggled as she spread out her arms and legs.

“Great,” she mumbled, “just what I want to be when I grow up: a dead body!”

From the second row, ten year old Amelia watched him with gleeful eyes as he set up the evidence markers he brought with him. In the back of the room the other parents who attended career day were watching with interest- except for a young mother who was too busy texting to notice.

_Thirty. Stays at home. Missing her favourite show for this. Lying about her ‘office assistant’ at-home job. Her daughter’s in the fifth row: overweight and battling social anxiety. Considering her overbearing, selfish mother it’s really no wonder._

Sherlock had more than a few reservations when John asked him to go to Amelia’s Career Day in place of him. Amelia had been looking forward to bragging about how amazing of a doctor her dad was, but when he got called in to do an emergency surgery John won him over by pointing out the only way to make up for it was for her to be able to brag that _Sherlock Holmes_ was her other father-figure at home. However, so far Career Day had not lived up to its expectations. None of the kids seemed interested in the lessons he was trying to teach him and worse, he was getting looks of sympathy from Amelia.

“You-" he snapped at a tall red-headed kid who also sat in the front row.

“Derek,” the kid replied eagerly.

Judging by the way the rest of the class was rolling their eyes and giggling, this kid was clearly the class clown. Excellent.

“Derek,” Sherlock greeted, “what is the first thing you notice about this crime scene?”

The scrawny kid stood up and swept his eyes over the makeshift crime scene. Sherlock had placed a car jack, a toy car, and a tiny drop of red paint on the ground to set up the scene.

Finally, Derek smiled.

“She has broccoli in her teeth from lunch!” Derek exclaimed.

The class burst out laughing, even Amelia, and the girl on the floor let out a cry of embarrassment.

“Ew!” She shot straight up, knocking over the toy car in the process. “Why didn’t someone tell me?”

“You’re contaminating the evidence!” Sherlock hissed.

She glared at him but obeyed and lay back down.

Sherlock sighed. Dealing with one ten year old was tiring enough, but a class of twenty of them? He didn’t understand how teachers did it.

“That’s actually good, Derek,” he offered. “Food can tell you a lot about a victim: their dietary habits, where they might have eaten lunch, if they ate alone. In fact, if the time of the murder was still in question a single string of broccoli could help a coroner determine an ETD.”

Someone in the third row raised their hand, but Sherlock waved the question away by answering:

“Estimated time of death. Anyway, say there was broccoli in this victim’s teeth and the body was found at two in the afternoon. What would that tell you about the victim?”

Derek blinked.

“She’s a health freak?” He guessed.

The girl reached out and kicked the other kid in the shin.

“At least I can do a push up in gym!” She teased.

Rolling his eyes, the boy returned his attention to the rest of the crime scene.

“She had a car jack, so she was probably on a lunch break and had a flat tyre,” Derek announced. His eyes narrowed in on the tiny, green, Mini Cooper toy car. “She has lots of money and she can afford to take long lunch breaks and eat somewhere nice, but she doesn’t know how to change a tyre. If someone attacked her with the handle then she probably asked someone for help and they turned out to be a bad guy. She’s not married because she would have called her husband.”

“How do you know the car jack belonged to her and not the suspect?” Sherlock challenged.

Derek glared at him, crossed his arms, and shot:

“How am I supposed to know?! I’m like ten years old! I don’t even want to be a copper, I’m going to inherent my dad’s business!”

A big man standing with the parents, dressed in a suit and tie, blushed and Sherlock threw him an apologetic look. In front of the parents, the kids stared at him with blank looks of confusion.

“Does anyone know why all of this is important?” He asked, reluctantly.

A small blonde girl in the back corner raised her hand, practically bouncing out of her chair. When he picked her to answer, she announced proudly:

“Always know how to change your own tyre.”

Groaning, Sherlock buried his face in his hands while the class burst out laughing. Even the parents grinned at that one, but Sherlock was frustrated with how quickly these kids jumped from curious to uninterested. Amelia raised her hand slowly and glanced around, as though nervous about answering. Sherlock eyes lit up as he pointed to the little girl he considered to be his stepdaughter.

“Every detail is important,” she explained. “Missing one little clue can mean not being able to solve the case, or it can at least post-pone solving the case.”

Sherlock beamed, and he wished he had that on tape for John to see.

“Excellent!” He cried. The rest of the class rolled their eyes, but he wanted to hug her.

“Well,” the teacher said, looking at the clock. It was three PM, and Sherlock couldn’t have been more grateful. “Mr Holmes was our last guest, and I’m afraid we’re out of time. Let’s give a big hand to all the parents who came by!”

Not one kid clapped. Instead they all scrambled to gather their bags and books, like they couldn’t get out of their soon enough. Amelia threw her rucksack over her shoulder and walked up to him, looking as shy as ever. When she was around her friends she was an outgoing attention-grabber, but he had learned that in class she was quiet. She was doing rather well, and he had a bad feeling that she was teased for being so academically advanced.

“Forget everyone else, you were amazing!” Amelia said, grinning from ear to ear. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and fished the keys to John’s car out of his pockets as they headed out of the room. “I think we both deserve ice cream after that.”

“Have I ever mentioned I have a fear of public speaking?” He teased.

“Sher- _lock_!” She sang. “You do not. Kids are just mean.”

As they made their way through a corridor of screaming, out of control, children he couldn’t help but to agree.

“I say ice cream is in order,” he offered, “but only if you eat extra vegetables at dinner.”

Amelia groaned but finally leaned her head against his arms and replied:

“Deal. And Sherlock?” They were almost out the door, but she didn’t seem to mind turning to him and giving him a big hug right in front of everyone. “Thank you for coming. I know it’s kind of weird because you’re not really my father by blood…but you’re _so_ much cooler than all those other parents!”

He had to bite his lip to keep from becoming overwhelmed with emotion at the compliment.

“Mr Holmes?” A small voice asked. They both turned to find Derek and his business-owner father, who was looking down on his son, encouraging him to apologise. “I’m sorry. All that stuff was important. Amelia, you have a really cool dad.”

Sherlock froze and Amelia clung to him, like she knew he needed his support or he might fall. Over the past ten years he had grown closer to John’s daughter than he had ever imagined. Hell, he had grown closer to _John_ than he had ever imagined. But when he first moved in and offered to help out he made it clear what the boundaries would be between him and the Watsons. He always felt self-conscious about referring to Amelia as his daughter, even though John had long ago told him that was a stupid thing to worry about. He knew Amelia considered him nearly as important of a father-figure as her real father, but he worried about ruining that special father-daughter bond she and John shared.

But Amelia beamed at Derek’s compliment, and once again Sherlock found himself fighting off tears.

“Yeah I do,” Amelia finally replied.

That was it. His heart was going to melt right then and there. Derek smiled and walked away. When Amelia turned back to him it looked like she wanted to cry too.

“I wanted you to come because you are like a dad to me,” she said quietly. “I know you don’t like me saying it, but it’s true. You and Daddy don’t have to pretend anymore. It won’t insult my mother’s memory to call you my dad. In fact, I think my daddy wants me to.”

His eyes lit up. That must have been one of those father-daughter conversations he missed out on.

“Really?” Sherlock asked.

She nodded. She grabbed his hands and held them closer to her heart. Around them a hundred school kids rushed to get out the door, but to them, the world had come to a standstill.

“He said it’s like…there’s him and you, then there’s him and me, then there’s me and you, when it should just be _us_. A whole family. He asked me how I would feel if we started living like that.”

Yes, fainting was definitely in his near future.

If he didn’t know any better, John was hinting at _marriage_ when he talked about that with Amelia.

_Marriage!_

It was a word that he had never, ever, thought about until this very moment. He and John seemed perfectly happy just living as a couple, raising his child, and just getting by day to day. John had never mentioned wanting something more.

But apparently he did.

His heart pounded, and his chest tightened as he thought of him and John standing at an altar together.

No, this was all wrong! Marriage wasn’t _them_. It was never something they even cared about.

Well, it was never something _he_ cared about. But John used to fish around for the perfect mate like he couldn’t wait to walk someone down an aisle. Maybe he had been holding off for the past ten years, fearing what Sherlock would say if he dared to bring up something like marriage.

“Are you okay?” Amelia asked carefully.

He snapped out of his thoughts and squeezed her hand.

“How about that ice cream?” He asked. He began leading them out the door again.

She seemed a bit put off by the abrupt subject change, but she simply shrugged and grin.

“Chocolate!” She cried happily, as though they weren’t just talking about something as life-altering as marriage.

Marriage.

_What?!_

Yet as they stepped out into the sunlight and joined the other parents and children in the parking lot, new thoughts popped into his head. He imagined John, down on one knee and trying helplessly to put his emotions into words. Or maybe _he_ should do the proposing. He thought of how overjoyed his mother would be and how pissed and even _jealous_ Mycroft would be.

Sherlock grinned.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope this is as fun to read as it is to write! Any thoughts on the new chapter?


	4. First Date

John let out a soft moan as Sherlock kissed him one final time. As he rolled off his husband a grin spread across his face, and they were both in giggles as they lay side by side. For a moment they just gazed at each other until John reached up to brush a curl out of his eyes.

“I’m glad you had the night off,” Sherlock said with a lopsided grin on his face.

“Yes, finally,” John side. He planted his hands behind his head and gazed up at the ceiling. “One more double shift and I would have died.”

With a smile on his face Sherlock rolled over, leaning over John’s body. He thought about stealing yet another kiss, but instead he decided to drink in the moment and just _stare_. It was one of those moments when Sherlock had to pinch himself to make sure he back at Baker Street, dreaming. Gently, he traced the deepening lines of John’s face. His job was beginning to wear him thin; he wasn’t keeping up with his patients as well as Sherlock was keeping up with clients and both of them were aged each day as they dealt with their _teenaged_ daughter.

“Do you think if you stare long enough I’ll be young and handsome again?” John teased.

Sherlock let out a bark of laughter.

“Oh John…you haven’t been young for as long as I’ve known you.” They both laughed at the joke, but when he saw a glimmer of guilt in John’s eyes he remembered how self-conscious he had been lately about getting older. “You’re perfect.”

He leaned down, giving John an extra kiss. John’s face flushed a bit at the intensity of the kiss, and he reached up to pull Sherlock back before things could get any more heated. Biting his lip, John hesitated before he blurted out:

“We need to talk about something.”

Groaning, Sherlock threw himself back to his side of the bed.

“I knew you wanted something,” he mumbled. “You’re never _that_ giving in bed unless you want something.”

John rolled his eyes, turned onto his side, and propped his head on his chin.

“First of all, that’s not true,” John shot. Then his face hardened, like he was truly nervous about telling him something. Sherlock’s placed his hand on John’s to encourage him on. “Do you remember that boy at Amelia’s birthday party, Colin?”

Scrunching his nose, Sherlock vaguely recalled a scrawny, ginger kid who followed Amelia around the entire night.

“Was he the one that wanted coffee instead of soda?” He asked.

With a laugh, John replied:

“Yes, that one. Well, apparently he’s asked Amelia out on a date.”

Sherlock jumped out of bed, stark naked.

_“What?!”_

John threw him his dressing gown and grabbed his own shirt to pull over his head.

“She’s thirteen, Sherlock,” John pointed out. “It’s not all that weird for her to be interested in dating.”

“She’s just a kid!” Sherlock protested. “She still eats gummy vitamins!”

“Yes, and we should really start getting her off those and get her on a more well-rounded diet,” John mused. He shook his head. “No, you’re not getting me off-topic. It’s just a harmless date. He wants to take her out for some pizza and a show on the West End.”

“Amelia doesn’t like theatre,” he replied.

John shrugged.

“No, but Amelia likes Colin. I think you would like him too. He’s a sweet kid. Very mature too. His mum is a nurse in my hospital. Apparently his parents go to the theatre all the time so Amelia’s pretending to be interested in it.”

“Well I’m glad you all are acquainted,” Sherlock shot. “What does it matter if I like him? You sound like you’re practically ready to walk her down the aisle!”

“Am not!” John protested. “I just want to be supportive. And I’d like it if you approved because…I sort of suggested you could chaperone their first date.”

“No!” Sherlock exclaimed, the ends of his dressing gown exposing his privates as he spun around, arms crossed. On the bed, John held a hand to his mouth, trying not to laugh. The consulting detective pouted as he gazed out their window and into the window of the row of townhouses behind them. As if John had planned it, a happy young couple held hands and kissed by a parked car as they ended their date.

“I don’t want her to grow up either,” John said quietly. His silhouette appeared behind his own in the window, and Sherlock tensed as his lover’s arms wrapped round his waist. They were in clear view of the street, and their neighbour chose that moment to peer up at their window…and wink. “But these are make or break moments for us. We either accept that she’s becoming a woman or get pushed away forever. Need I remind you to remember what it was like to become a teenager?”

With a loud sigh Sherlock turned back to the bed and flopped himself down on top of it. John threw himself onto the mattress next to him and for a moment they both rest on their elbows, gazing into each others' eyes.

At that moment there was a knock on the door. John shot up straight, grabbing his pants, while Sherlock dipped under the covers. As soon as John called for Amelia to come in their daughter bounced into the room wearing a nightie and slippers.

“What did he say?” Amelia demanded.

A big grin slipped across John’s face, and Sherlock fought the urge to not roll his eyes. John always loved jumping on any chance to be the Good Dad.

“He said yes!” John announced happily.

Not two seconds later did Amelia let out a squeal of excitement and lept onto their bed. Sherlock became distinctly aware of what a mess both he and their bed was, and he could only hope she hadn’t grown up enough to realise what it all meant.

“Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you!” Amelia said, throwing her arms around his neck. “Colin is the coolest, you’ll love him! He’s super cute, and he’s really smart, and his family is cool. They even have a new puppy!”

“…great,” Sherlock managed, trying his best to sound as enthusiastic as he was.

“I’ve got to pick out something to wear!” Amelia babbled on. “Can you help me?”

Her wide, puppy-dog eyes batted up at him, and he didn’t have the heart to do anything but nod ‘yes’.

“Why can’t I help?” John pouted.

They both stared at him, and John seemed to get the picture. Throwing his arms in the air in defeat, he announced:

“I’m going to wash up.” He leaned over to give both of them kisses on the cheek. For a long moment he gazed down at his daughter, and Sherlock felt relieved to see the tiniest bit of sentiment in him. Obviously he wasn’t having as easy of a time watching Amelia grow up as he thought. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“Okay! Love you.”

“Love you.”

 

That Friday night he drove Amelia over to Colin's house right after school let out. She had chosen to wear a blue summer dress with white shoes, and John had even managed to pull her hair into somewhat of a fancy bun (apparently the nurses at work gave him lessons). Even Sherlock had to admit his stepdaughter looked gorgeous. She was so grown up with her handbag matching her dress and faux pearl necklace Molly lent her.

Yet this didn’t stop her wringing her hands the entire ride. She kept glancing at herself in the mirror, as though looking for flaws. She stared out the window with a worrisome look a thirteen year old should never have to wear.

“Nervous?” Sherlock asked.

Amelia straightened her back and crossed her arms, just like John always did.

“Why would I be nervous?” She shot.

A smile slipped across his face.

“You know, nothing went right on my first date with your dad,” he admitted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Amelia smirk.

“I know Dad,” Amelia teased. “The psychopath with the burning building. Yes, very funny. I know nothing that big will happen tonight. I’m just worried, okay? If tonight is a disaster the whole school knows. If your first date was a disaster…”

“All of London would know,” Sherlock pointed out.

She rolled her eyes.

“Right,” she muttered, looking out the window. “My two semi-famous Dads.”

He opened his mouth, a bit hurt at that, but decided to leave it.

“Whatever happens, it’s not the end of the world,” Sherlock offered.

As soon as he realised how that sounded, he winced.

“So you think this isn’t going to work out?” She exclaimed. “Great, thanks!”

She kicked at the dash just as they pulled up to Colins house. Her eyes traveled up to the front porch, nervously, and she whispered;

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

Reaching over, Sherlock squeezed her hand.

“It will be fine,” he promised. “Do you want me to meet his parents?”

She shook her head fiercely as she climbed out of the car.

He grinned as he watched her walk up to Colin’s front door. Colin was Amelia’s age, with short brown hair and glasses. His voice hadn’t started changing yet, and he always dressed sharply in a collared shirt and nice jeans. He was at the top of Amelia’s class, so it wasn’t like he was a bad influence on her, but he couldn’t help but to feel a pang of sadness as he watched a boy hold her hand for the first time. She led him back to the car, and Colin opened the door to the backseat for her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, her cheeks reddening a bit as though she were embossed by his kindness.

“Hi Sherlock!” Colin greeted, waving.

“Hey Colin,” he replied. He met the kid’s eyes through the review mirror, secretly trying to remind him of his authority. Colin swallowed, nervous, making Sherlock feel a bit more confident about the night. After all, Colin knew Amelia’s step dad was a consultant detective to Scotland Yard and her Uncle’s partner was a DCI. He didn’t know about Mycroft, but anyone who met him seemed to be able to sense that with a touch of a button the elder Holmes had unbelievable powers. No, this kid wasn’t going to try anything with Amelia- not under his watch. “So, where to?”

“Pizza!” Amelia and Colin both cried.

It was refreshing how childlike they sounded, and for once he didn’t have a problem going to Amelia’s favourite family-friendly pizza restaurant. The place was packed with sports teams celebrating wins and older kids enjoying their Friday night. He sat across from the two kids as they awkwardly picked at their cheese pizza, unsure of how to break the ice.

“So what do you do for fun, Colin?” He asked, biting into his own pizza. “Any sports? Football?”

He now knew far too much about football thanks to his relationship with John, and when in doubt he could usually hold up a decent conversation about it if things got to be that desperate.

“Not really,” Colin shrugged. “I mostly just play violin.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up like a kid who just met his music idol.

“Violin?” He repeated. “Really? How long?”

“Oh not too long…”

Amelia pushed him playfully.

“He has been playing since he was four!” She bragged. “He’s gotten really good. He played at this recital for school at Christmas. It was brilliant!”

Sherlock frowned.

“I wasn’t invited to any recital at school.”

Shrugging, Amelia replied:

“I wasn’t in it.”

Of course: at the time it wasn’t cool to be in a school recital, but if her boyfriend was then suddenly it became interesting.

“I play violin, you know,” Sherlock said.

“Amelia tells me you’re really good,” Colin replied. “I’ve been taking lessons all my life, but I still struggle with all this stupid stuff. My technique is off.”

“You should come over sometime,” Sherlock offered. “Maybe I can help.”

Colin’s eyes lit up for the first time that night.

“Yeah!” He exclaimed. “I would love that, thanks.”

Amelia grinned at him over the rim of her glass, and he winked.

Sherlock’s mobile buzzed in his pocket. If it was John checking in he would text once and let it go until he replied. If it was Mycroft being nosy he would call. If it was Greg about his case he would keep texting until he answered.

Another buzz.

“If that’s about the Simpson case you should get it,” Colin suggested. Sherlock couldn’t help but to be impressed: Karl Simpson was a banker who went missing a few days ago. An investigation of his character led to a lifetime of secrets- a secret family in Cardiff, a mountain of debt, gambling, the list went on. The Yard was ready to rule it as a run-away, but Sherlock knew better. He was expecting Lestrade to find a body any day now.

“How do you know about the Simpson case?” Sherlock asked as he checked his message.

Sure enough:

 _Break in the S case. Please respond ASAP._ -GL

Sherlock texted back:

_What happened? Chaperoning a date._

He tried to be as cool as possible as he sat down his mobile. He didn’t want Amelia worrying about her date coming to an abrupt end.

_Found a body. Definite suicide, but thought you’d want to look. And what is she doing on a date?!_

Anytime Greg declared something a ‘definite suicide’ it turned out to be a definite murder. There was no way Sherlock could close this case that easily.

_Don’t lecture me. They ganged up on me! I’ll be there ASAP. Text location._

“Well,” Sherlock said, clearing his throat. “the play might have to wait.”

“What happened?” Amelia demanded.

“Did they find a body?” Colin asked eagerly.

Eyebrows raised, Sherlock replied:

“Yes, and they’ll find my body next if I take you two to a crime scene so sorry, but Colin I’ll have to take you back home.”

“No!” Amelia whined. “Please can we go?”

“Yeah!” Colin chimed in.

His mobile buzzed again:

 _Briefing in 45 minutes._ –GL

45 minutes wouldn’t give him enough time to get both kids home and get to the Yard. With a sigh, he gave in:

“Fine, but you’re both staying in the break room.”

Letting out a cheer, the two teenagers jumped up as he threw down money for the pizza and led them back to the car.

 

Greg’s eyes narrowed as he watched Sherlock sneak into the conference five minutes late. Getting the kids back to the car, to the Yard, and getting them settled in the break room, took longer than anticipated. He tried to focus as Greg continued dishing out the details of the body they found, but even among a sea of reporters and Yarders all he could think of was his stepdaughter and her friend sneaking around the Met.

The briefing was rather uneventful- the typical press asking useless questions like ‘what was the victim wearing’, Greg being too afraid to consider the case closed because he knew Sherlock would prove him wrong a half an hour later. It was the same old song and dance, and Sherlock didn’t waste time berating the DCI as he followed him to his office.

“Have you talked to the wife?” Sherlock demanded.

“Which wife?” Greg mocked. He rubbed his hands over his face. “I hope this bloke appreciated how much pain he was causing everyone in his life.”

“Yes, I’m sure he feels very sorry right now,” Sherlock shot. He hovered over Greg’s desk as the detective began organising his latest notes. “Why did you rule it suicide, and why didn’t you tell the press it was suicide?”

He knew the answer, but he liked hearing it said out loud. Greg stared at him, mouth agape and face ridden with exhaustion.

“Because I’ll know you’ll bloody prove me wrong as soon as I do! So go ahead, have at it, what have I done wrong this time?”

“For starters, you should talk to his wife. His _real_ wife.”

The consultant and the DCI turned in shock two find the two teenagers leaning casually in the doorway. Amelia wore a smirk on her face as she crossed her arms and continued:

“Think about it. Either he killed himself, so something had to happen so bad that he just broke-“

“Or someone found out,” Colin chimed in. “Probably the first wife because she would have known him better. People who are married that long know each other’s habits. She would eventually know something’s up and she would confront him about it.”

“So either she killed him out of rage or he felt like he had no choice but to just end it after talking to her,” Amelia finished.

Sherlock knew he should be more disturbed to hear Amelia talk about crime like this…but the detective side of him was proud that she was picking up on his deductive skills.

Slowly, Greg got to his feet, looking like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to yell at them for first. Sherlock took a protective step toward them, turned around, and added:

“They do have a point.”

Greg threw his hands into the air.

“Why don’t I just let you three run the department? Clearly I’m just bloody useless!” He threw himself back into his chair and stared out the window for a moment before mumbling: “I’m DCI Lestrade, by the way. Good to meet you.”

“Likewise!” Colin replied, unbothered by the older man’s bad mood. “So you found the body, right? Is this like an official murder investigation now?”

The DCI simply led his head fall to the table. Amelia slipped around his desk to kneel beside him and wrap her arms around him. Greg couldn’t help but to smile, and he considered whipping out his mobile for a picture, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“It’s okay Uncle Greg,” she said. “If it makes you feel any better last week Daddy told a patient he thought she just had a bad cold. Then it all turned into pneumonia and she ended up in the hospital and almost died.”

Greg looked up, blinked, and ran a hand over his head.

“That’s terrible. But it does actually make me feel a bit better, thanks,” he muttered.

He hugged her back and pulled her into his lap, just like she liked to do when she was little.

“So you three think this bloke was murdered?” He asked. They nodded. “Alright. How about this- I’ll get someone to bring us all ice cream and you two can watch your first police interrogation. Sherlock, I’ll get Donavon to call in the wife- the, erm, _real_ wife- if you want to do the honours.”

Normally he would have been all over the opportunity, but he was beginning to agree with his brother. Greg needed this, more than any of them.

“Nah, you go ahead. We’ll watch.”

“Right,” Greg sighed.

The best part was, for that single moment of Amelia trying to make her Uncle feel better, Sherlock saw the kid inside her once again. John was right: they were thirteen. Sure, by fourteen she would probably want nothing to do with them, but deep down she still the same little girl.

“What flavour of ice cream do you like, Colin?” Amelia asked.

Colin paused, giving the question a great deal of thought before replying:

“Toffee,” he grinned, “or licorice.”

His stepdaughter wore the utmost look of disgust on her face, like she couldn’t believe she was out with someone who could suggest such a thing. Honestly Sherlock was surprised enough that Colin settled for pizza after all he heard about him, but then again he was probably trying to impress Amelia as much as she was trying to impress him. But if there was one thing Amelia loved more than any other kind of food, it was ice cream.

“Just kidding!” Colin teased. “Chocolate is okay, thanks.”

Amelia grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen two people look so happy while bouncing through Scotland Yard.

Except for him and John of course.

Then something happened that made his heart stop. A hand fell on his arm, and he realised Greg was pulling him back to give the kids some space. He wasn’t sure if it was just something about the moment that overcame them, or if they forgot there were two adults with them, but Colin suddenly stopped Amelia and pulled her toward a doorway into an empty conference room. Instead of pulling her in the room he simply leaned in toward her and planted a kiss right on her lips.

“I never knew Scotland Yard could spark so much romance,” Greg whispered to him.

Sherlock was too busy going into shock to reply.

That was not supposed to happen.

No kissing!

It was one of the rules he established at the beginning of the night, right?

He frowned as Amelia kissed Colin back and grabbed his hand. This was Amelia, right? The same girl who sneaks out of her room to let her stay up and watch horror movies? The same girl who wanted a Star Wars themed birthday party last year? The same girl who begged Sherlock for a trip to a crime scene as a Christmas present? Going on a date was one thing, but _kissing_? How did she even know how to kiss?

After a moment Sherlock realised this was going on a little too long and finally came to his senses enough to clear his throat. The teenagers broke apart so fast it looked like Amelia bit Colin’s lip as she pulled away. Colin reached up and wiped his mouth; he looked horrified when he was forced to face the two grown-ups again.

“Sorry…erm…loo,” Colin announced.

Amelia beamed after him as their hands fell apart and Colin fled the hall. She looked almost as much as in shock as Sherlock did, and he had no doubt that was her very first kiss. She wore a mixture of excitement, hope, and utter fear on her face. Sherlock recognised that face- he would be money that’s what he looked like the first time he and John kissed.

“Are you okay?” He asked her quietly.

His stepdaughter’s eyes lit up as she wrapped her arms around herself and whispered:

“More than okay. I’m perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! I rewrote this chapter at least three times before settling on this version. It's sort of like all my ideas into one. I know realistically kids probably couldn't watch an interrogation...but come on, this is Greg and Mycroft's niece we're talking about! 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who is reading, leaving kudos, and for the nice comments. I hope this was as enjoyable for you to read as it was for me to write! I'd love to know what you thought!
> 
> Coming up next: Amelia turns 17 and there's only one word on her mind. Actually, lots of words. Only they're words Sherlock and John aren't ready to discuss ;)


	5. Scare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter discusses drugs, sex, and teenage pregnancy. Also note age of consent in England is 16.

Sherlock felt a bit like he was going into battle as he took a deep breath and knocked on Amelia’s door. Ever since she turned seventeen every conversation he had with his stepdaughter was painful: between the yelling, the insults, and the silent treatments he and John had been taking turns on dealing with her.

And tonight was his turn.

There was no bribing his way out of it. John was at work, and he was completely alone. Swallowing, he hoped for the best as he pushed the door open.

“Would it kill you to knock?” Amelia exclaimed, yanking the ear buds from her ears.

His mouth fell open as he crossed his arms, trying to decide on what he wanted to yell at her about first.

“I did!” He shot. “And you’re supposed to be doing homework, not chatting with your friends.”

He savoured the feeling of victory as her face contorted to anger.

“Right,” she muttered, “you know everything.”

She turned back to the laptop, completely ignoring him.

“I said, _homework_ ,” he said, storming around to her bedside. “Who is so important that they’re taking up all your time anyway? Boyfriend?”

He meant it in a teasing, _I really don’t want to know way_ , so he was shocked when her face went pale and she slammed her laptop closed.

“I’m going for a walk,” she mumbled, jumping up from bed.

Grabbing her sweater, she tried to storm past him but he grabbed her shoulders.

“Amelia, you’re grounded,” he pointed out.

“So I can’t even exercise?” She sighed, throwing her hands in the air. “World-class parenting, that is.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose (a habit he picked up from John), Sherlock breathed in and out slowly, trying to keep his cool.

“Just do the essay,” he said. He didn’t even care how desperate he sounded. He just wanted whatever this phase his stepdaughter was going through to end.

“It’s just about a stupid war,” Amelia mumbled, crawling back into bed. He noted the textbooks she was reading and nearly throw his fist at the wall.

“You mean the war your father was in?!” His voice bounced through the house. Amelia flinched, but he wasn’t about to apologise. “If he heard you say that-“

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

She sounded truly sorry, and part of him hoped this was the first sign of hope. Maybe things really could start to turn around.

“Why don’t you talk to him about it?” Sherlock asked. His only response was a shrug. “You can’t keep shutting him out, Amelia.”

Amelia’s eyes lit up, and he knew his moment of hope had passed.

“He shouted at me for like two hours!”

“He caught you smoking!”

There it was, out in the open, the topic they had been avoiding all day: Amelia coming home, reeking of smoke, cigarettes in her purse. Of course all she had to say about it was:

“He had no proof!” She exclaimed. “I told you, my mate was smoking, our purses were sitting right next to each other, and she must have dropped them in there by mistake or as a joke or something.”

He was properly ashamed of her at that moment. Had she not learned anything from watching him work over the years? Was that really the best she could come up with?

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You know how he feels about smoking, and you know how he feels about these friends you have been hanging out with.”

“It’s just a load of crap,” she shot, “all this drugs and drinking lecturing. Like I would be stupid enough to do that!”

The comment hit him like a ton of bricks, and as his breath hitched he could only hope he didn’t look as ill as he felt. The truth was, he had no idea John had talked to Amelia about drugs.

“Scoot over,” he said quietly. Rolling her eyes, she obeyed and gave him room to sit next to her. She squired when he put his arm around her, but it was his only assurance she wouldn’t run away after this. “Amelia, there’s something about my past I haven’t told you about. Your Dad and I have done a lot of talking about rather or not I should tell you, but I think it’s only fair you know.”

Her wide eyes, that looked so much like John’s, bore into his and he wished more than anything that he could change his past. Never before had he been so embarrassed, so ashamed, to admit the man he used to be as right now. Amelia was still so innocent, still so protected, and he was about to rip the world as she knew it into pieces.

“When I was young, about your age, actually, I started doing cocaine,” he confessed. His voice was so quiet and she looked so confused he wasn’t sure she had actually heard him. But when he felt her hand lift his left arm and her fingers found his old white scars he swallowed nervously. “What started as curiosity turned into a habit I couldn’t shake for years. I turned my back on my family, and I barely graduated uni. I even lived in squats for a while. I did everything I could to ensure I could keep up my habit.”

A painful silence filled the room as her fingers traced the scars on his arm, and his heart pounded with anticipation until she softly replied:

“I had always wondered what the scars were from. I know most people don’t notice them, but it’s why you always wear long sleeves, isn’t it?”

He offered her a stiff nod.

“What made you stop?” She asked, raising her eyes to meet his again. When he saw how hurt, how confused, she looked he was overcome with emotion. “Was it Daddy?”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head, “no I quit before I met him. I don’t think your Dad would put up with me for very long if I was still using when we met. No, I quit after an overdose.”

“You almost died?”

He nodded again.

“All those years I told myself I wasn’t an addict,” he went on. “I thought I had control over my drug habit, but I was lying to myself. Drug abuse is real, Amelia. It’s real, and it’s a part of your family history.”

Something stirred in her eyes, and deep down he hoped he scared her enough to keep her away from any kind of drugs forever. As much as he loved John and admired his parenting skills, he knew that lectures and yelling could only prevent so much. Amelia needed to understand the reality of the world she lived in.

He wasn’t quite sure what he expected her to say about that. Maybe she would yell, or cry, or try to escape again. Maybe she would just ignore him like she was ignoring John.

“Dad?” She asked quietly. “Can I ask you something personal? Like, really personal?”

He figured maybe she would ask him what he took or who he got the drugs from so he nodded.

Never in a million years would have expected what she asked him instead:

“When did you lose your virginity?”

The shock was so overwhelming that he choked. Sherlock was certain his face was tomato red, but Amelia didn’t seem put-off by his reaction. Instead her eyes were still soft, like she understood this would be uncomfortable for him.

As his stepdaughter sat quietly, waiting for him to respond, the only thing Sherlock knew to do was what every other parent in his position would do.

Lie.

“In uni,” he replied.

Because there was no way he was going to admit to her it was when he was about her age. It was true hadn’t had much sexual experience before he met John, but there was one boy in school and only because he didn’t really have a clue what sex even was yet. He regretted it to this very day, and though he was sure there could be a lesson in there somewhere, he didn’t want to completely ruin Amelia’s image of him.

When Amelia’s eyes suddenly filled with tears he wondered if he had answered wrong.

“Amelia?” He asked carefully, raising his hand to her shoulder.

“I really, really, really messed up, Dad,” she said through tears. Her hair fell into face as she sobbed and gasped for breath. He placed one hand on her shoulder and one on her back, trying to help her calm down.

“It’s okay, you can tell me anything,” he promised. His stepdaughter just continued to cry. “If something happened to you, if you’re in trouble or if you’re hurt, I need to know.”

She raised her face just enough to reveal eyes that were filled with shame, and he swallowed nervously again, preparing himself for the worst.

“I do have a boyfriend,” she admitted. “Did, I mean. James, he’s…he’s at school with me and we decided to, um…experiment. He just wanted, and I had never…he told me it was no big deal and…I slept with him, Dad. I slept with him, and he dumped me like two days later, and I feel like complete shit.”

The world came to a stop around him. He held onto her maybe a little too hard, but only to keep himself from crumbling. Sex. His stepdaughter had sex and with a boy she barely knew, from the sound of it. Sex.

“How…” he began and shook his head, realising that’s not where he wanted to go. “When…where…who is this James again?”

Amelia only sobbed in response in collapsed into his chest. As she cried into his shoulder, he actually felt a bit bad about lying to her about when he lost his virginity. She obviously felt very lost and very guilty, when in reality she was talking about a perfectly normal part of becoming an adult.

Just…why was it something she had to care about _now_?

“It’s perfectly okay to feel like this,” he assured her. “Everyone goes through it, but it…sex…isn’t always like this. It’s not always this thing you have to feel guilty and ashamed about. It’s also about love and romance and-“

Suddenly Amelia lifted her head. Her face looked ghastly, and he worried she might be sick.

“It’s not just that,” she whispered, “I…Dad I’m…I’m late.”

His heart skipped a beat.

“You know,” she swallowed, “my-“

“I know,” he said, “I know. Amelia…are you sure?”

She looked at him helplessly, as though she hoped he had that answer.

“I haven’t taken a test,” she admitted. “I’m too afraid.”

He couldn’t blame her. Sherlock could honestly say he couldn’t imagine how terrified she was feeling, but while he was concerned about her all he could think of was…

What the fuck is John going to say?

She must have read his mind because she went on to plead:

“Please don’t tell Daddy. Please, please, please. He’ll murder me. Shit, he’ll get Uncle Mycroft to murder me, and then he’ll solve the case himself. He’ll be so ashamed, he’ll kick me out, he’ll-“

“Okay, Amelia,” he said, placing a hand on her cheek, “first of all, yes, he might be angry. He might be furious, actually. But you’re his daughter and he loves you. He will always protect you, no matter what, and no matter how afraid you are you have to take that test. If you’re actually pregnant…”

“I know,” she mumbled as tears ran down her cheeks.

“I can get the test for you,” he offered, “or if you’d like I can call Molly-“

“No!” She exclaimed, shaking her head. “No, please don’t tell anyone.”

Hesitating, he pointed out:

“I have to tell your dad.”

He bit his lip; he could already hear John yelling now. She was right, he would be pissed- and rightly so- but that wasn’t what she needed right now.

“Please,” she pleaded, “can we just wait until we get the results?”

“He’s a doctor, Amelia-“

“I know, I know, but please.”

She stopped crying long enough to gaze into his eyes, and he didn’t have the heart to make this any worse for her than it already was.

“Okay.”

That’s how he found himself, a married, gay, man going to get a pregnancy test. When he returned home he didn’t say a word as he handed Amelia the shopping. He paced the living room as she disappeared to the loo, thinking about how much their lives would change if she actually were pregnant. Their house wasn’t big enough, for one thing. While John made enough money for them to live comfortably now, with a baby Amelia would probably have to work instead of focusing on university. Even worse, as much as he knew John loved Amelia he knew how much pressure he put on her to do well in school and think about her future. John would support her, yes, but that didn’t mean the tension between the two wouldn’t become even worse.

Five minutes later the bathroom door unlocked, and Sherlock’s heart stopped. Amelia’s face was stained with tears. She obviously was in no state to speak so she simply held up the test that confirmed…

Not pregnant.

He breathed a sigh of relief and raced toward her, allowing her to throw her arms around him as she cried tears of relief.

“I want to be a mum someday,” she confessed, “just not now.”

“And I want to be a granddad,” Sherlock admitted, “just preferably not before I’m sixty.”

A smile peered from her lips for the first time in weeks, and Sherlock finally felt like he had his stepdaughter back.

“I feel like such shit for the way I’ve treated you two,” she said, “I was just so, so scared.”

“You should never be too afraid to come to us,” he told her. He hugged her tighter, as she buried his face in his shoulders. On the wall across from him was a photo of him, John, and three year old Amelia, and he smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered. As they broke apart she wiped a tear across her face and offered him a grateful smile. “Daddy’s going to ground me until I’m thirty.”

Turns out, John only grounded her until she was twenty and made her swear not to date until after uni. But after all the yelling and lecturing, Sherlock stood back and watched as his husband and best friend embraced their daughter with tears in his eyes. He lost track of time as they stood there in their living room, closer than they had been in months, _years_ , maybe, and he could honestly say he had never been prouder of them both. John mouthed a quick ‘thank you’ over Amelia’s shoulder and he simply nodded, grateful that he was able to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I know this chapter was a bit deep, but I hope you have enjoyed this journey of the Holmes-Watson family. I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter!


	6. Sherlock Dances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Which babysitting adventure will Sherlock never admit happened? Here's the final installment!

“Okay, once more with feeling this time, Amelia.”

“But _Dad_!”

Sherlock couldn’t help but to grin. He was still getting used to being a ‘dad’. He had John officially got married six months earlier, and he was surprised at how quickly he stopped being ‘Sherlock’ and started being ‘dad’.

But he absolutely loved it.

“Your recital is in three days!” He pointed out. He looked at the two of them in the mirror. Their living room was turned into a make-shift dance studio, complete with a large dance mirror propped against the wall. The furniture was pushed to the other side of the room, giving them plenty of time to practise the routine- only, Amelia had a bad habit of going through it twice and getting bored. “You can do the double pirouette, I know you can. You just need to spot, it will help with your balance.”

He motioned toward the green tape he stuck to the mirror for her to spot, but Amelia just rolled her eyes.

“I wanna watch telly,” she stated, crossing her arms.

“You can watch telly when you’ve mastered the routine,” Sherlock said. “Now let’s go through this again.”

With a dramatic sigh, Amelia hit play on her music. Sherlock shook his arms, loosening up. He began counting- _five, six, seven, eight-_ and they were off.

“And arms!” He shouted over the music. “Remember, Amelia-“

“I know!”

“Plie, balance, pique, pirouette, pirouette, entrechat- _OW!_ ”

He was too busy watching Amelia instead of gracefully transitioning from the pirouettes to the next step, and he his feet got tangled mid-air. As he fell his body hit the floor with a _thud_ , and a loud _crack_ filled the room as his right ankle broke. Gasping for breath, Sherlock tried to sit up to get a good look at his foot but everything hurt to move.

“Dad!” Amelia exclaimed, shutting off the music. She fell to the ground beside him and looked him up and down. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied, “I just hurt my ankle, that’s all. Just give me a minute.”

But she ignored him as she rolled up his trouser leg, and even he winced at the sight of the black-blue swollen bone.

“It looks bad,” Amelia said. She touched the bone with her pinky, and a fiery pain shot up his injured right foot. “Does that hurt?”

“Yes it bloody hurts!” He shot. “Don’t touch it just…just let me think.”

Sherlock let his head fall back to the floor and his eyes gaze up at the ceiling. Maybe if he laid here still enough the pain would go away…

“I’m going to call 999,” Amelia announced.

His eyes lit up in alarm, and he momentarily forgot about the pain as he sat straight up and grabbed her arm.

“No!” He exclaimed. As his body shifted the pain was back, burning more painfully than ever. “No, Amelia, that’s just for emergencies.”

“This is an emergency!” She protested. “Your ankle is hurt. You can’t get up.”

“I’m fine, just…help me to the sofa.”

He realised he was giving an eleven year old orders to lift a grown man and drag him across a room. His stepdaughter gazed back at him helplessly, and part of him wondered if maybe he _should_ go to the hospital. Each time he tried to move his right ankle he was met with pain. The entire bone felt stiff, like it was replaced with a brick someone had set on fire.

“On second thought, just bring a pillow over here,” he said. Suddenly he remembered something John told him long ago about keeping hurt legs and feet elevated. “Actually, bring me a whole stack of pillows. I need to keep my foot elevated.”

“And ice!” Amelia said. From the corner of his eye he saw her disappear into the kitchen instead of getting the pillows. “You need ice! It’s what Daddy always gets me when I’m hurt.”

_Daddy._

Of course. He needed to phone John.

More importantly, he needed to think of a valid reason he would be lying on their living room floor with a broken ankle and then phone John. Because there was no way he was going to let word get out that he hurt himself doing a ballet routine.

“Here!” Amelia said, breathless as she fell to her feet beside him.

She presented him with a bunch of ice wrapped in a towel, and when she gently placed it against his ankle he had to admit it felt a little better.

“Thank you,” he sighed. Reaching up, he ran a hand through her long, blonde hair. She beamed at him; he knew she liked to play doctor whenever she got the chance. “Can you get my mobile?”

Nodding, Amelia bounced over to the sofa and grabbed his phone.

“Can I call Daddy?” She asked. “I wanna talk to him!”

“Listen,” he said, hesitant, “can we not tell Daddy how I hurt my ankle?”

Amelia shrugged.

“I guess you can say you fell down the stairs.”

Of course! She was brilliant. Considering the amount of things he found himself carrying up and down the stairs these days he could break his ankle doing that at any moment of the day.

Except…

The staircase was on the other side of the room.

“Just give me the mobile,” he sighed. He put the phone on speaker and listened as it rang twice before John picked up.

“Hey,” John greeted. “Is everything alright?”

“Daddy!” Amelia sang. “Sherlock got hurt.”

“What?!” John exclaimed so loud Sherlock held the phone away from him for a moment. “He wasn’t on a case, was he?”

Amelia frowned.

“No,” she replied. Their eyes met, and he secretly pleaded for her to think of a good lie, but it was no use. “He was dancing.”

The line was dead silent for a solid thirty seconds before John burst out laughing.

_And so it begins._

“Dancing?” John said, giggling. “Sherlock, why were you dancing?”

He beat his fist against the floor, which didn’t help his aching body.

“I was helping our daughter with her routine!” He said. “Recital Friday, remember? She still doesn’t have her double pirouette down!”

“Oh love,” John sighed. He giggled for a few more moments before he finally pulled himself together. “Okay, how badly are you hurt?”

He tried to wiggle his foot and cried out in pain.

“That’s it, I’m leaving work early,” John announced.

Thirty minutes later Sherlock lie on the floor with two pillows under his head and five under his foot. He felt absolutely ridiculous. Even worse, Amelia was practising her pirouettes in the mirror again, and the very first time she tried it after he fell she got it. Naturally. Behind them the front door opened, and he mumbled:

“Finally.”

John appeared over him, but his husband couldn’t manage five seconds without grinning.

“And how was your day?” John teased.

“Just fine,” Sherlock shot. “I picked Amelia up from school, cooked, did the washing up, and oh- broke my ankle!”

As John knelt down beside him his body softened, and when he looked at Sherlock next he was completely sympathetic. John offered him a soft smile and gently touched his ankle.

“Can you try to move it?” John asked. “Carefully now.”

Sherlock tried to make his foot follow John’s wrist as it turned to the side but it wouldn’t go. Instead, pain just built up again and he had to close his eyes and grit his teeth to stop from crying out.

“Daddy, Daddy, look!” Amelia cried. She did two perfect pirouettes in the mirror.

Another smile crossed John’s face.

“That’s great, sweetheart!” He said. He turned to Sherlock with a smirk. “Maybe she can teach you.”

He slapped John’s shoulder and his husband laughed as he took out his mobile.

“Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital,” John said. “You need to get your ankle set. I’ll get Mrs Thompson to watch Amelia.”

“No!” Amelia whined. “I wanna go! He was my patient first.”

Even Sherlock had to grin at that one.

“She has a point,” Sherlock said.

Rolling his eyes, John motioned toward the door.

“Alright then, come on,” John said. Amelia let out a squeal of excitement, like taking him to the hospital was the equivalent of going out for pizza. “Do you think you can stand up, Sherlock?”

“No,” he mumbled, but he let John place an arm under his shoulder anyway. It took a moment of awkward, poor coordination, but when he was at last standing with his hurt foot in the air he turned to John. “You will never, ever, ever, _ever_ tell anyone about this, got it? As far as the rest of the world is concerned, I fell down the stairs.”

“Yes,” John nodded. He scratched the back of his head, like he did whenever he thought he knew Sherlock was wrong. “Because ‘Hat Detective Defeated by Stairs’ makes a much better headline then ‘Hat Detective Falls Dancing Ballet’.”

His face turned so hot he had no doubt it was the shade of scarlet.

“Please?” He begged.

“Fine,” John agreed. He gently leaned in to kiss his cheek. “love you, you know.”

“Really?” Sherlock mocked. “The whole wedding thing hardly an indication.”

“Oh shut up, you,” John warned, “or I’m phoning Mycroft and Greg.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide, and he would have honestly given anything to avoid having to go through what he would have to go through for the next six weeks.

Then as John helped him hobble down the steps and into the car, and as their daughter climbed into the backseat, he thought of all they had been through together.

At the end of the day, if a dancing detective headline was the worst thing that happened to them in the past decade, then so be it.

“You know, after all you’ve done in your life you’re going to be remembered as the man who hurt himself while doing ballet in his living room,” John said as they pulled out of the driveway.

With a groan, Sherlock sank down into the seat…and winced as his ankle scraped across the floor.

“Oh Sherlock, you know I’m only kidding,” John teased.

Something soft and ticklish brushed against his hand, and he looked down, surprised to find John’s hand on his. He looked over to his husband and was relieved to see he seemed to be nothing but sympathetic and honestly grateful he was okay.

“Do we really have to tell people?” Sherlock asked.

John glanced in the mirror.

“Amelia, this will be a family secret, okay?” He asked.

Amelia rolled her eyes.

“I’ll add it to the list,” she called back to them.

Sherlock and John’s eyes met again as they shared smiles. He didn’t protest when his husband’s hand stayed on his the rest of the car ride, rubbing comforting circles against his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for following Amelia's journey! I'm so pleased everyone seems to like her! I'd love to know your final thoughts on the series! Would you like to see more of Amelia?


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